


All I want is one more chance to show you

by justhush (fragilehuge)



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-12
Updated: 2016-03-12
Packaged: 2018-05-26 08:48:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6232198
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fragilehuge/pseuds/justhush
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>One morning, completely abruptly, Merlin realizes he needs to tell Arthur he's a sorcerer.</i> Basically, a reveal fic wrought with interruptions, misunderstandings, awkwardness and the Dragon being... metaphor-y.</p>
            </blockquote>





	All I want is one more chance to show you

**Author's Note:**

> First posted in 2009. I have no idea if anyone still reads Merlin fic anymore, but I wanted to put some of my old work on AO3 for archival purposes.
> 
> Original author's notes:
> 
> First fic in this fandom, wooooo! Sort of in honor of the new season. Mostly I'm trying to post before season two's new canon makes this fic impossible. It has happened to me before and it reaaally sucks. Title is lyrics from the song "Reunion" by Stars. Beta'd by the lovely mithrel and gladsomemind.

One morning, completely abruptly, Merlin realises he needs to tell Arthur he's a sorcerer.

He's sitting outside with Gwen, eating a bite before taking Arthur's breakfast up. The silence is companionable, broken only by a few tired murmurings.

“I heard Kate mention yesterday that Milly's mother is ill,” Gwen says, staring out at the early morning sun. “A few of us are trying to put some money together for her.”

Merlin yawns, mentally figuring out how much he can spare for the girl. Milly is very young, but she's smart and works hard. Merlin likes her, and more than that, he respects her.

“I can certainly give her something,” he tells Gwen. “Tell me when you know more, yeah?”

A few quiet moments pass, as he watches the light filter through the trees, seeping through the leaves almost like water. Merlin isn't even thinking about Arthur or magic or anything of the sort when he decides.

_Arthur needs to know._

The thought surprises him enough that he at first thinks someone else has said it. “What?” he asks, even as he realises the words were inside his head.

“What?” Gwen asks, head turned to look at Merlin.

Merlin mutters, “Nothing, sorry. Thought you said something,” and considers telling Arthur the truth.

-

On the way up to Arthur's chambers, he plans out what he's going to say, but it's hard to think past the chant in his head _– Arthur needs to know._ The words have grown more urgent as Merlin's thought about it, as if considering the idea has made it more persistent.

The walk passes very quickly, and then he's setting the tray of food on Arthur's table without any recollection of how he got there. Arthur's already awake, slumped into the chair, and he tucks into his food without comment.

“Arthur, I need to tell you something,” Merlin starts. He puts his hands flat on the table, so it's not so obvious they're shaking.

Arthur barely looks up from his porridge. “Sure, of course,” he says. “What the hell _is_ this stuff?”

Merlin swallows, and says, “Arthur, it's serious.” That earns him a glance. Arthur puts down his spoon. It makes a little clinking sound on the bowl.

“What?” he asks, not unkindly, finally looking like he's actually paying attention.

“Well – ” Merlin hedges for a second, and takes a deep breath. Suddenly, another servant bursts through the door.

“Sire!” the boy says, skidding to a halt. Arthur raises an eyebrow. “King Uther requests your presence in his chambers _at once_ , sire.”

Arthur looks from the boy to Merlin pointedly. “I'm having a conversation.”

“Yes, sire. At your leisure.” The servant backs out of the room quickly.

Arthur looks back at Merlin. “You were saying?”

Merlin bites his lip. “This really isn't something I can rush out when you're needed elsewhere.”

“It's probably nothing.” Arthur frowns at his porridge again before standing up. “What my father has to say can wait a minute.”

“You should just go,” Merlin insists. He can always tell Arthur later. It isn't a huge deal, he thinks, even as part of him begs to tell Arthur everything.

-

Merlin's staggering along with a deer slung over his shoulder, and Arthur's _armed_ , but Merlin figures if Arthur's going to kill him, he might as well make it easy. There are a few other knights trailing behind them, too; Merlin's pretty sure Arthur wouldn't kill him with witnesses. He thinks.

“So,” Merlin says. He drags out the word, wondering if death by crossbow would be more or less painful than being burned at the stake. Probably more.

Arthur looks back over his shoulder at Merlin. He slows his pace slightly, until Merlin catches up. “Sooo?” he repeats. Merlin decides he might as well get on with it.

“That – thing,” he starts. “That I was going to tell you? The other day. Well, uh, I'm gonna – uh. Tell it.”

“Spit it out,” Arthur says. Merlin stumbles on a tree root, and the deer starts to slide off his shoulder in his moment of instability. Merlin swings his body forward, in an attempt to catch the animal, but ends up failing spectacularly. He can't even get his hands in front of him to break his fall.

Merlin spends a long moment dazed, lying there. He can taste dirt in his mouth.

Arthur's laughing, in this terrible, _smug_ way, and Merlin wants to hit him or do something horrible with his magic. He can hear Sir Bedivere howling with laughter somewhere behind him.

“Gawain!” Arthur calls, still chuckling. He's not even trying to hold it back. He gestures at the deer, and Gawain slings it over his shoulder quickly. Merlin crawls to his feet, ignoring Arthur's offered hand.

“Let's go,” Merlin says gruffly. He brushes the dirt off his trousers, knowing they aren't going to be presentable again until he can wash them. Merlin _likes_ these trousers. “Besides, I was in the middle of saying – ” He stops when he realizes Sir Gawain is _still there_ and obviously within hearing distance.

Also, he and Arthur are both _staring._

“ _What_?” Merlin's tone probably isn't appropriate to use on a knight and the crown prince, but Arthur only breaks into another fit of giggles.

“You've got a little – blood,” he says, touching his nose.

 _Never mind_ , Merlin thinks irritably, and uses his scarf to stem his nosebleed. Maybe he'll tell Arthur in twenty years, once he's stopped being such a prat.

-

_Tell him._

Merlin wakes up in the middle of the night sweating, his dream still slick in his memory.

Arthur had been dying. Merlin's pulse races, just remembering it. Arthur had been bleeding from a wound Merlin couldn't find. He couldn't fix it because for all he could see, there was nothing wrong. Just blood, all across Arthur's body and on Merlin's hands. The Dragon had been inside his head, screaming at Merlin to tell Arthur everything.

 _Do it now_ , the Dragon had said. _Tell him, you idiot!_

Merlin held Arthur, feeling his body going slack, as the Dragon screeched. Even now, Merlin can still hear the voice echoing in his head, desperate, anguished: _Tell him, please, tell him, tell him, tell him!_

Merlin doesn't sleep for the rest of the night.

-

He doesn't dawdle when he gets into Arthur's room the next morning.

“This might be, uh, shocking, to you, but I feel like I really need to just – get it out there. I want to be honest.” Merlin stokes the fire, even though it's blazing happily courtesy of his magic.

“Anyway,” Merlin says, just as there's a loud knock on the door. Through the wood, Sir Galahad yells, “My lord! Bors has insulted my honour and I need to wrestle him to the death!” There's a pause. “Or, not to the _death_. We were going to arm wrestle. That doesn't sound nearly as dire.”

Merlin can almost feel Arthur's indecision. He sighs, pushing the image of Arthur's dead body out of his head. It was just a dream, after all; Arthur isn't going to die. “Go judge their arm wrestling competition, Arthur. We can talk later.”

Arthur's out the door and down the hall with Sir Galahad in thirty seconds flat.

-

Merlin doesn't get another opportunity to tell Arthur until a few days later, even though he thinks about it constantly. Whenever he's about to start talking, he second-guesses himself, and pauses – only to have someone walk in or some emergency present itself, which only makes him pause _more_ the next time he tries to tell Arthur, waiting for a disaster to interrupt him.

Merlin's taking Arthur back to his chambers after a banquet for a visiting Lord. It's late, so Merlin's fairly sure they won't run into anyone now. Nearly everyone has already retired for the night; Arthur had to stay up with a few lingering guests and, in turn, so did Merlin.

Arthur is being awfully quiet on the walk, the only sound coming when he stumbles occasionally – He's nearly asleep on his feet, probably because he was up early for patrol (Merlin _knows_  – he had to be up too). Consequently, Merlin's had a lot of silent time to gather his courage and to shut the voice in his head up. He'll be happy to just get this over with, damn the consequences.

“I've been interrupted every time I tried to tell you this,” Merlin finally manages. “But I always say, there's no time like the present!”

“You – _never_ say that,” Arthur slurs, and nearly falls down laughing, at which point Merlin realises Arthur is absolutely _plastered_.  
  
-

Merlin has another dream much the same as the first one, except Arthur isn't dying.

 _You can't do this_ , the Dragon shrieked, as Arthur pinned Merlin against a wall, fingers tight around Merlin's wrists. _Tell him first, damn it! You'll ruin everything, Merlin, you have to_ tell _him!_

Merlin ignored the Dragon and kissed Arthur back.

 _Damn the consequences_ , Merlin thought as the Dragon's pleas dissolved into a mindless scream, one that sounded a lot like _He'll never trust you again._

-

Understandably, the next morning, all Merlin can think about is consequences.  
  
“Uther's going to have my head if he finds out, and, I don't know – maybe you will, too. I hope not, I just ---” He's still _nervous_ though. Because Arthur could have him killed, or exiled and something equally terrible, and then how could Merlin protect him? “I mean, once I tell you, it'll all probably make sense. There've been times when I thought you suspected, maybe, so I think once you know it'll seem obvious, in retrospect.”

Arthur's watching him intently, a funny expression on his face.

“What I'm trying to say is – ” Merlin's voice is shaking, and he can't stop wringing his hands. This was a bad idea. If he tells Arthur, and Arthur keeps it from the king, it will be treason. He's asking Arthur to commit _treason_. “This might just ruin everything, but I really – ”

“It's okay,” Arthur says gently. “It's okay. I know.”

Merlin freezes completely, and every sound except Arthur's voice dulls to silence. He wants to shriek, “You _know_?!” but when he opens his mouth he can't make his voice work.

“You don't have to say it. I understand. It's not going to ruin things, or – or anything like that.” Arthur takes a breath, and what comes out makes Merlin wish he'd never tried to tell Arthur anything. “You're in love with me, and I – I think I might be in love with you too.” He has a soft little smile on his face, hopeful and pleased at the same time.

Merlin's explodes with, “That's not what I was going to say at all!” before abruptly realising how that sounds. “Oh,” he says, quickly, regret settling in the pit of his stomach. “Oh, Arthur, that's not – ” But Arthur's face has already gone completely blank. He isn't looking Merlin in the eye.

“Right,” Arthur says, devoid of inflection. “You're dismissed for the rest of the day. You can tell me whatever you were going to say some other time.”

Merlin tries to say something, but it comes out choked, and Arthur's still _glaring_ at his forehead. All he can do is turn around and flee.

-

And then everything is absolutely and abruptly horrible.

Arthur makes sure he's never around Merlin long enough for a proper conversation. Merlin can't even apologise, can't even – even. He doesn't know what he could say, really. He wants to say he misses Arthur. Arthur was his friend, okay, and when you're suddenly without a friend it's fine to be upset about it.

Even if Merlin didn't handle Arthur professing his love – What is he even supposed to think about that? Seriously, does anyone know how to deal with the crown bloody _prince_ declaring – Merlin cuts off the thought. He's found it's best to not think about it. But even if Merlin didn't handle the situation well, it doesn't mean – it doesn't mean they can't be _friends._

“Thank you,” Arthur says, eyes downcast. Merlin hardly thinks Arthur's breakfast is that interesting. _Look at me_ , he thinks. Arthur keeps looking at his food. “I have a tournament next week, so I expect my armour to be clean by then.” There's a slight pause. “That is all. You may go.”

The worst part is how _polite_ Arthur is now. Merlin half expected Arthur to become cruel, to load Merlin with work in... punishment, or something. Arthur has done nothing of the sort. Last week, he even asked if Merlin had tasks from Gauis before having him drag all of Arthur's bedding downstairs to be washed.

“Of course, sire,” Merlin says sincerely. It's hard to tease Arthur when he's being so _nice_. He can't call Arthur a prat if he isn't being one. Merlin leaves quietly and vows to make Arthur's armour the sparkliest damn armour ever. Maybe eventually Arthur will forgive him and things can go back to how they were.

-

Merlin doesn't realise the voice is gone until it's back again. He's lying on his bed trying to sleep, trying not to think about how Arthur may never talk to him again, when it starts talking to him.

 _So you haven't told him._ It sounds vaguely disappointed, and even if it sounds like Merlin, it's certainly not coming from him. _I sensed your relationship had changed, and I assumed you'd told him, but you haven't, have you?_

The voice was never coming from Merlin.

“You manipulative son of a _bitch!_ ” Merlin screeches, rage coiling hotly in his belly. He throws himself out of his bed, not bothering to change before he stalks out of his room.

Gauis is sitting up on his cot, reaching for his glasses. “What, Merlin? What is it?”

“I'm going out for a while,” Merlin says harshly. He focuses on controlling his magic. He can feel it trying to whip out around him. The destructive tendrils manage to knock a few books off the shelf. He can hear something smash on the floor as he pushes the door open. It feels good to break things.

The night air does nothing to cool his anger.

 _I thought you knew I was talking to you_ , the Dragon says, and this time the Dragon's voice is deep and echoing, the same way it was Merlin's first night in the castle. Now it actually sounds like a goddamn magical Dragon is talking to him, instead of some telepathic brainwashing technique.

“Then why did you disguise your bloody _voice_?” he screams, knowing he's going to wake someone up and not caring. He can feel clumps of grass ripping out of the ground behind him, dirt tickling his ankles. The wind has kicked up in a decidedly violent way, whipping at Merlin's clothes and hair.

 _Control yourself._ The Dragon sounds almost worried.

Merlin wants to rip the castle apart stone by stone, just for that, but instead he stops in the middle of the pathway and forces his magic to still. He can feel it bubbling under his skin as he makes his way across the lawn and into the castle, then down into the Dragon's cave.

-

“Dragon!” Merlin bellows, once he's reached the bottom of the stairs. He can hear the huge whoosh of the Dragon's wings flapping as it settles on a rock nearby. Merlin takes a deep, calming breath, and focuses on not destroying anything.

“Evening,” the Dragon says, and Merlin loses his temper. A white spark of magic shoots off his fingers and careens through the air. The Dragon easily manoeuvres around it, and the rocks sizzle where Merlin's magic touches them.

“I cannot _believe_ you,” Merlin says darkly, nostrils flaring. “You ruined everything!”

“What happened?” the Dragon asks, as if Merlin hasn't said anything. “If you had done what I asked, nothing would have gone wrong.”

“You didn't _ask me anything_!” All Merlin really wants to do it hurl himself at the Dragon, even though he knows it would end badly. “You infiltrated my head and you tricked me – you _manipulated_ me – into thinking it was a good idea, _my idea_ to tell – ” Suddenly a horrible thought strikes Merlin. “Did you trick Arthur into thinking he loved me, too?” Merlin doesn't know what he'll do if the Dragon says yes.

The Dragon just looks surprised, though. “Arthur said he loved you?”

“Yes! Yes, he did and it's _your fault._ If I hadn't kept – kept trying to tell him about my magic, he wouldn't have got the wrong idea and everything wouldn't be ruined.”

The Dragon only looks faintly disappointed. There's a long pause, and then he says: “You do not love him back?”

“What? _No_ – I mean. I don't, but that's not the _point._ I didn't even get a _chance_.”

“I do not understand,” the Dragon says, finally.

Merlin takes a deep breath and starts talking. “Arthur thought I was trying to tell him I loved him, but I _wasn't_ , so when he told me he knew what I was trying to say, and that is was okay because he loved me too, I was so shocked all I did was tell him that he was wrong, 'No, Arthur, I wasn't trying to tell you I'm in love with you!', because it was the _truth_ , but not really what I _meant_ , and now he won't talk to me.”

“Oh my,” the Dragon says, and is silent for a very long time. Merlin feels his anger leave him all at once, and he collapses on the floor, slumping back against the wall of the cave.

“This is very bad,” the Dragon says, sometime later. “I cannot see where your destiny lies.”

And then it flies away, like the bastard it is.

Merlin puts his head in his hands.

-

Arthur wins the tournament, and when he leaves the ring, Merlin's right there, ready to congratulate him.

Arthur doesn't even look Merlin's way.

 _I cannot see where your destiny lies_ , the Dragon's voice repeats in Merlin's head, and for a split second he thinks the Dragon is talking to him again, but it's just his own mind mocking him.

 _Fuck you_ , he thinks vehemently. _Fuck the Dragon. Fuck everyone._ He kicks a stone and heads for Arthur's chambers. He'll just try again later. He can fix this.

Merlin has a sinking feeling he isn't going to be able to fix this.

-

Gwen makes pitying little faces at Merlin whenever she sees him, and Merlin wants so badly to confide in her. He can't think of a way to tell her without also having to explain that he's a _sorcerer_ , so he ends up not saying anything at all.

It doesn't stop her from coming up to him one night and placing a hand on his shoulder, squeezing it comfortingly.

“I'm sorry you two are fighting,” she murmurs.

“I – we're not –” Merlin feels defensive about it, all of the sudden. It's not a fight. Merlin _rejected_ Arthur without even meaning to. Arthur was probably scared to death; he made himself vulnerable only to have Merlin stomp all over him. Arthur will never open up to Merlin again – maybe he'll never open up to _anyone_ again. Merlin isn't sure. He has no idea how much damage he's done. Hopefully he hasn't ruined anything other than his own relationship with Arthur.

It isn't a fight, no matter what Gwen thinks. Merlin isn't fighting with Arthur, because you can only truly fight with people you care about and Arthur has to _hate_ him. “It's not a fight,” Merlin says weakly.

“I see the way you look at him.” Gwen's voice is soft. “You don't have to talk about it. I just figured it might help to have someone who understands.” Her voice wavers uncertainly. “Not that I'm saying I understand, of course, I can't imagine what it – "

“Thank you, Gwen.” Merlin leans into her touch, and he can feel her uneasiness, even as she quiets. “Thank you,” he says again, and she wraps an arm around his shoulder, keeping him close.

-

The Duke of southeast somewhere-west-of-here has a son named Phillip, who's in line to inherit land or a river or some other such thing that Uther has decided would benefit Camelot to have access to. It might have been the Earl of southeast somewhere-west-of-here. Suffice to say Merlin wasn't paying attention.

What's important, is that Uther has decided it would be “advantageous” for Arthur to take him out on a four-day hunting trip to “gain his favour.” Arthur needs lots of things for a long trip like that. Namely, his manservant.

There's an awkward silence after Arthur explains it. He rubs the back of his neck. Merlin bites his lip – does he nod and leave? Is Arthur _asking_ him? Why the hell would Arthur ask him something like that? It's Merlin's duty to ---

Arthur clears his throat. “Of course, if you would rather not accompany me, I wouldn't force ---”

“I want to go,” Merlin interrupts. Arthur doesn't look happy, and Merlin wonders if he said the wrong thing. “I mean, if _you_ don't want me to, I wouldn't – it's your – ”

Arthur looks bewildered. “Why wouldn't I want you to – ”

Merlin looks at his feet. “Well, you know. Because of, uh – how you. I mean. I obviously -- I insulted you, and I would understand if you didn't, uh, want me anymore...” Merlin trails off awkwardly. Are they pretending it didn't happen? Should he acknowledge it? Merlin has a hard enough time acknowledging it in his own head.

Arthur still looks completely surprised. “I'd always want you,” he says, like it's obvious.

Merlin tries to say “Oh, okay,” but it comes out choked and Arthur turns bright red with realization.

“I – I mean, I mean to say that I'm not going to – and I wouldn't – ” Arthur doesn't make eye contact. “You're a good manservant, and this is a good, noble job and I wouldn't punish you for my – affliction.”

Merlin bristles, the frustration of the whole week channelling easily into anger. “I suppose it must be an _affliction_ for a prince to love someone as lowly as a servant, right?”

Taken aback, Arthur doesn't say anything, and his silence makes Merlin even angrier. “I'll see you in the morning,” he says tersely, voice clipped. “At breakfast. Unless you need something else?” Merlin's just _daring_ Arthur to ask for something else now.

Arthur needs another moment to collect himself. “I'll, ah, see you in the morning?”

Merlin's out the door before Arthur finishes his sentence.

-

_Come._

The Dragon's voice is angry enough that Merlin doesn't think to question it, just hurries out of bed and towards the caves.

-

“You – _you_ ,” it says. “are a complete _fool_.”

Merlin stares, mouth agape. The Dragon is pacing as best as a huge dragon can pace on a comparatively small rock, and for all of its obvious anger mostly it just seems upset. Merlin has a crazy thought that it might cry. Do dragons cry?

“Huh?” Merlin says eloquently, trying to figure out if the eyes are glossier than usual.

“The weight of Arthur's burden far outweighs yours.” The Dragon makes a weird noise, and smoke puffs out of its nostrils. Merlin wonders if the Dragon will kill him. “His confession has rendered him powerless, and he does not believe it befitting of a king to be weak. It will rip him apart. Your destiny is _continually_ shifting.”

Merlin stares.

“ _Do you know what that means?_ ” the Dragon booms, and a lick of flame dances into the air.

Merlin feels very small. “No?”

“It means that you and Arthur may not unite the kingdom into Albion. It means I cannot see your place in Arthur's future. It means you may have destroyed this land's chance for peace. _Prophecies do not come along all that often._ You and Arthur are _special_. You had a chance to change our world.”

The Dragon pauses, pinning Merlin in place with its stare. After a moment, it continues gravely, “The kingdom will descend into chaos without Arthur's leadership and your guidance – _that_ I can see.”

Merlin swallows. He felt shitty before, but it's nothing compared to this. Having Arthur hate him only made Merlin's life crap. Now, the Dragon's telling him he may have ruined the lives of countless people. People he doesn't even _know_.

“Only a week ago, your and Arthur's fates were twisted together as one. There were not two fates, but one, which you both shared.” The Dragon closes its eyes. “That is no longer the case.”  
  
Merlin doesn't move for a long time, and eventually the Dragon stops looking angry and starts looking very, very sad.

“I'm sorry,” Merlin says, very softly.

The Dragon's eyes are full of regret. “I'm sorry as well.”

-

Things vary between borderline normal and awful for first day of the trip.

Normal is making fun of Phillip as they ride down the trail.

“He won't make it through the night – he's a priss; certainly not accustomed to anything less than a down mattress,” Arthur whispers. “Did I tell you he hasn't even taken any sword fighting?”

“Only eight or twelve times,” Merlin mutters, taking a quick peek at Phillip, who's struggling on a ways behind them. His servants are riding close to him, keeping a watchful eye, so that they can catch him if he falls off. “I doubt he'll make it to the campsite. He can barely ride his horse!” Merlin says, and promptly falls off his own horse.

Arthur laughs at him for five minutes straight. When Phillip catches up, he grins smugly, which bothers Merlin the most. It's even worse when Phillip manages to keep up with Merlin and Arthur once they start riding again, making it impossible to continue making fun of him.

Phillip prattles on for the rest of the ride, but every once and a while Arthur will glance over and raise an eyebrow, a universal _Can you believe this guy?_ and Merlin has to stifle a snort.

-

“She's beautiful,” Phillip sighs, staring at the picture in the locket. “I'm going to marry her.”

“I thought you said she refused your proposal...?” Merlin asks absently, taking a long drink from the stream, where they've stopped to rest.

“It's just a formality. I'm sure her father will agree once I come into my inheritance.” Phillip seems utterly sure of himself. Merlin exchanges a glance with one of Phillip's servants, who shrugs slightly, looking helpless.

“How can you still insist on marrying her if she's said _no_?” Arthur asks, voice mild, but his jaw is clenched. “Certainly you can't want to force her unwillingly?”

“I'm sure she'll change her mind,” Phillip grumbles. Arthur stares at him, disapproval written all over his features. “Do you have your eyes on anyone?” Phillip asks, trying to change the subject.  
  
Arthur says, “No, there's no one,” but it doesn't sound convincing. Phillip spends the rest of the ride to their camping ground trying to get Arthur to tell who she is, and Arthur doesn't talk to Merlin the whole way there. Finally, Merlin lets his horse drop back, and rides the rest of the way behind them.

It's where he belongs.

-

When they get to the campsite, Arthur and Phillip are immersed in conversation about – something.

 _Their fathers_ , Merlin thinks. _Something only royalty would understand._ Surprisingly enough, Arthur actually seems to be enjoying Phillip's company. Phillip gestures widely with his arms. Arthur laughs, nodding enthusiastically, and his smile doesn't look strained at all.

“Merlin!” chides Mark, one of Camelot's servants. “Stop staring and help me gather some firewood.”

“Not staring,” he mumbles.

Merlin doesn't know why he cares so much.

-

“Sire?” Merlin asks quietly, standing beside the door to Arthur's tent. “Do you need anything?”

Arthur pokes his head out, the light from his candle spilling onto Merlin's shoes, and lighting Arthur's hair from behind, making it look golden.

“Make sure someone has a fire and breakfast going tomorrow an hour before sunrise – Phillip and I are going to try our luck at finding some deer.”

“Well, you sure are getting on with Phillip,” Merlin says before he can think about. It comes out slightly bitter, and Arthur frowns at him.

“What? That's the whole point of this trip.” Arthur seems genuinely confused. “Phillip and I are _supposed_ to be friends. Or, he's supposed to think we are, at the very least.”

Merlin still feels resentful. “Everything will be ready when you wake up,” he says, already turning away. It figures Merlin wouldn't be jealous of the wealth and influence Phillip is set to inherit, but the time he spends with Arthur.

“Nonono, Merlin, what – ” Arthur grabs Merlin's hand, pulling him into the tent. Merlin looks down at their joined hands, surprised by the touch, which only makes Arthur yank his hand back like he's been burned. Arthur mutters an apology.

After what seems like an excruciatingly long time, Merlin explodes with, “Arthur, I'm really sorry – ”

Arthur's eyes go wide when he hears what Merlin is saying, and he starts talking too, raising his voice in an effort to drown Merlin out. “You don't have to apologi– ”

“ – And this isn't working. It's really kind of awful – ”

“ – Anyway, I know we'd all be happier if we could just – ”

“ – I'm sure if you just let me _explain_  – ”

“ – leave this alone and forget the whole embarrassment – ”

“ _Arthur_ ,” Merlin interrupts, and finally, finally, Arthur looks at him. “I didn't know it was an _option_.”

Merlin takes a deep breath, and realises he's actually going to do this. He puts a silencing spell over the outside of tent, hoping it's enough to keep the prying ears of the rest of the camp out. He doesn't want anyone other than Arthur to hear this, especially if it's too late. Arthur could always say _no_ or start chopping wood for Merlin's execution. Merlin really hopes neither of those things happen.

“Look, I never lied to you; I _wasn't_ trying to say I loved you. I was trying to tell you something very different and big and terrible and scary. I wasn't really thinking straight, because of said terrifying secret, so I may have implied I didn't or I _couldn't_ love you, and that isn't true. And there's a difference, right, because even – ”

Phillip's head pokes into the tent. “Hey, Arthur! I was wonde– ”

“Get out,” Merlin interrupts.

Phillip scowls, tilting his chin up. “I hardly take orders from a mere– ”

“ _Get out,_ ” Arthur says impatiently. Phillip looks totally dumbfounded, but doesn't question him.

There's a moment of silence once Phillip leaves.

“Go on.” Arthur's voice is very, very even.

“Uh,” Merlin says. “Where was I?” He stalls for another second, before starting up again. “Right, okay. So even though I might not love you, I _like_ you. You're – loyal and just and beautiful and _proud_ ; you're Arthur, the stupid prat, the Prince of Camelot.” He swallows. “You're my _lord_ and I'm proud of that, even if I give you a hard time. I'm proud to be your friend, your servant, and anything else you choose for me to be. I don't love you because I never knew I _could_.”

Arthur says, “Well, um. You – ” The rest of what he says is so quiet Merlin can't hear it.

“What?” he asks.

Arthur clears his throat, blush spreading up his neck. “You could,” he says. “I – that would be. You could.”

“Okay. Awesome, then.” Merlin fidgets awkwardly.

There's a long silence, and then Arthur says, “Right, just processing. Big, terrible secret?”

Merlin feels the blood drain out of his face. “I was hoping you wouldn't catch that,” he mumbles. Arthur looks expectant, though, and Merlin doesn't want to lie. “I'm kind of – Well, not kind of.” He squeezes his eyes shut. “I can do magic. I'm a sorcerer.”

It's quiet and dark and Merlin's just waiting for Arthur to hit him. No one outside the tent can hear them. No one would be able to hear Merlin scream.

Arthur doesn't hit him. Instead he says, “Well – I'm. Shocked.”

Merlin peeks open his eyes. “I figured if I told you something good and something bad at the same time it might cancel out?”

Arthur looks disbelieving. “That is entirely _stupid_. You think that if I was going to turn you in, I would change my mind because you – ” Arthur stops. “You meant what you said? You weren't just trying to – you weren't pretending because you thought I'd –”

“ _No_ ,” Merlin says fiercely, as soon as he gets what Arthur is asking. “I meant it. I meant all of it. I would never – I just thought – I thought it would soften the blow. I wanted a moment where I could believe this could work, before I told you everything and you hated me.”

Arthur looks at him for a long time. “Are you a _moron_?” he asks, his voice going high with disbelief – and maybe a little relief – at the end.

“I figured, best case scenario, you wouldn't kill me right off, and instead give me a few days head start to run.”

“I'm in love with an idiot,” Arthur says plaintively, and Merlin's so surprised at hearing him say it like that, so simply self-assured, that all he can do is stare. Then, Arthur says, “Oh lord, I bet every servant in the camp has his ear pressed to the tent and heard that.” His eyes go wide, and he says, “ _Merlin_ , shit, someone will tell – ”

“No, I – I used a spell. No one can hear us.”

“ _What_?” Arthur asks.

“Outside the tent. No one outside can hear us talking in here.” Merlin looks down. “Sorry.”

When he glances up, Arthur's mouth is twisted into a smile. “ _Sorry_!? Why would you be sorry? So you're not an idiot after all.”

Merlin chances a smile. “I'm not?”

“Well,” Arthur drawls, “I spoke hastily. You're still an idiot.”

Merlin laughs, feeling like a weight has been lifted off his shoulders.

“I can't believe I didn't figure it out,” Arthur mutters. “Because, honestly, now that I think about it, was your plan to just do lots of magic around me and hope I caught on by myself?”

“Uh, maybe subconsciously?”

Arthur pins Merlin in place with a hard stare. “Well, you can't do that anymore. You could be _caught_. There are very few people in Camelot who think Uther's ban on magic is silly; and of the few who do, even less would be willing to keep a secret from the King.”

“And you _are_?” Merlin doesn't mean to be disbelieving, but – “You're willing to keep a secret from your _father_?”

“I'd rather not, but some things are unavoidable,” Arthur says simply. He smiles a little, all for Merlin. “The easiest thing is not always the right thing.”

Merlin can't help but throw his arms around Arthur. “ _Thank you_ ,” he says, and Arthur hugs him back, just as tight.

-

Arthur is riding at the front with Phillip, doing damage control. They're just silhouettes in the evening light. Merlin watches the strong line of Arthur's shoulders, the way he shifts his weight on the horse, gesturing with his hands as he tells a story to Phillip.

Merlin knows he'll fall in love with Arthur. He can feel the thought settling in his bones, something intangible beneath his skin, like his magic, like the blood in his veins.

At first Merlin thinks it's Arthur laughing, the deep, rich sound filling his head. It's too loud to be Arthur, though. Merlin can feel the sound reverberating throughout his whole body, but no one else is reacting.

Merlin recognises who it is all and once, but it has nothing to do with how the laugh sounds. The Dragon is a presence in Merlin's head all on its own; the way Merlin can tell Arthur apart from all the silhouettes ahead of him, just from the way he carries himself. The Dragon never disguised his voice; he shouldn't have had to. Merlin just wasn't paying attention.

 _Well done,_ the Dragon sounds proud. _Albion will be once again_.


End file.
